Chapter Six: Helen

"You shouldn't have to put up with that," Mom says, taking a sip of her martini.

I sigh and trace my finger along the rim of my white wine spritzer glass. Half of the fun of a Minnesota trip is drinking, so I wanted to wait to get anything alcoholic until we get to the cabin. No use filling up on empty calories before we've even gotten there, after all. However, by the time we arrived at the restaurant, I was more than ready for a drink. And no, it's not like I have a drinking problem or anything, certainly not to the degree of my mom's cousin, Uncle Moose, who consistently goes to the bar across the lake from the cabin until 2:00 in the morning.

"Yeah, well, he's right. I'm not his mother."

"And thank God for that," she mumbles under her breath.

"MOM!" I snap. "Jaden is a good kid. He's just going through something really tough right now!"

"Okay," says my mother, folding her napkin daintily across her lap. "I'll bite. What is he going through that is so tough it makes it impossible for him to be civil with you?"
I realize I can hardly say he's upset about not liking a show anymore without the whole thing sounding trivial. I'm supposed to be making Jaden look good – or at the very least, sympathetic – after all. "You know," I say, picking up my paper napkin and shredding it absentmindedly. "Teen stuff."

"No, I don't know," she says, pursing her lips. "And stop that," she motions toward my shredded napkin. "You're making a mess."

"Sorry," I say automatically. Sam Samuelson always says I need to work on apologizing much, much less. "But come on. You were a teen once, a million years ago."

She scoffs but gives a small smile.

"It's hard to be Jaden," I say. "I mean, it's hard to be anyone in high school. All those hormones? And pressure from teachers? And trying to get into college?" I realize that I sound a lot like the textbook on Educational Psychology I had to read for my teaching degree, but I continue anyway. After all, the writers of the text definitely knew what they were talking about. "And Jaden is different," I say. "Like, he's weird. And I don't mean that it a mean way at all! Just…he's not interested in the kinds of things most teenagers like. He's not popular like I was. I think it's really hard for him to make friends." This, at least, is true. "He's probably really lonely at school and the whole divorce thing definitely isn't helping."

She sighs. "Well, that's hardly a reason to be rude to you," she says.

I drain the last of my white wine spritzer and call over the waitress to ask for another.

"Really?" Mom asks, raising an eyebrow. "Do you know how many calories are in that?"

"Um, yes," I snap. "We've definitely discussed this before. Of course I do!"

"Well, I just hope you're planning on getting a lot of exercise tomorrow," she says – which is another of her all-time favorite quotes.

"And what about you? Martinis have, like, five percent more calories than white wine spritzers, you know! Are you going to be getting a lot of exercise tomorrow, too?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Which is why I'm only having one," she says condescendingly.

Because I have no desire to get into it with her about my weight or my drinking habits, I return the conversation to Jaden. "You know, it doesn't matter that he's rude to me. It really doesn't. I mean, I wish he would be nicer to me, but that's okay. It's not like I'm not totally used to it. I just hope he's nice to everyone else at the Lake Cabin. Maybe you were right. Maybe this was a horrific idea. He's just so awkward around people."

"Do you think he has Asperger's?" Mom asks. She says it with her mouth full of Caesar Salad so it comes out like sounding like "Oz-burgers."

I have several friends on the Autism Spectrum who are all lovely people, so it has definitely crossed my mind, even though the one time I suggested it to Perry, he stuck out his lip and told me to stop being so judgmental. "I think he probably has a lot of things," I say, picking at my Sesame Asian Chicken salad. "He just gets so obsessive sometimes." I take another swallow of white wine spritzer before continuing. "Like, for the past year, he's been really, really, really into this weird show called The Mice of King Arthur's Court."

Understandably, she scoffs at that.

"Yeah, I know," I say. "It's super weird. But, like, now he's starting to outgrow it, I guess. Or just realizing it's a bad show, maybe. I don't know."

"And that's what he's so upset about?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Um, yeah. That's definitely part of it."

"Oh please," she replies.

At this point, my head is feeling so fuzzy I'm not sure how to respond. Is it a serious problem or is it just "oh please?" I'm not even sure anymore.

At 11:35 this next day, Mom, Jaden and I arrive at The Wharf, our family's go-to brunch/Bloody Mary spot.

"You're late," snips Aunt Mary, who isn't my Aunt at all, but rather my grandmother's cousin. I hadn't taken her presence into account this year and I groan inwardly. To say Aunt Mary is a bit of a control freak is putting it mildly. To say she is no fun at all is much more accurate.

"Sorry, Aunt Mary," says Mom in a fake cheerful voice as she goes to kiss her on the cheek.

"Oh, be fair, Mary," says Grandma Helen, waving her Bloody Mary glass in the air. From the looks of it (and from knowing her), this isn't her first cocktail. "They're less than five minutes late!"

Aunt Mary purses her lips. "Well, everyone else was able to be here at least five minutes early," she mutters under her breath.

"Don't mind her," Grandma Helen says, right out loud. "She's been in a mood all morning." She smiles at me and takes my hand in both of hers. "How are you, my Darling? You look beautiful this morning. Simply ravishing!"

I blush slightly. To tell the truth, I have a slight headache, determinedly throbbing behind my eyes, but I don't say anything. "Thanks, Grandma," I say. "You look beautiful, too!"

"Oh, I do not," she says nonchalantly. "But thank you for saying so, anyway." She nods at my mother. "Helen. How was the drive?"

"Hi, Mom," my mother says, giving her a peck on the cheek. "It was fine."

"And who's this?" Helen I asks, eyeing Jaden from behind her Bloody Mary glass.

"Oh, this is my former step-son, Jaden!" I say, nudging Jaden forward and praying silently that he will be polite. "He couldn't wait to come out here and meet everyone!"

"Well, now that's an obscure relative," she says and smiles. "Pleasure to meet you, Jaden. What do you do for fun?" Which is, of course, precisely the wrong question to ask Jaden.

"Nothing," mumbles Jaden charmingly and collapses into the seat next to me, where he slumps down and stares determinedly at the menu.

My mom laughs. "Teenagers, am I right?" she asks.

As our drinks and food arrive, I introduce Jaden to the rest of the guests. Aside from Grandma Helen, Aunt Mary and the previously mentioned Becket, Ellory, Uncle Moose and Tom Snook, we are also joined by Tom's new wife, Andrea, my second-cousin Steffi and her new baby, Taylor and Mom's childhood friend, Gail, previously referred to by everyone ever as "Gail, Gail, the Big Fat Whale," because apparently the seventies were a very cruel time.

On the plus side, Jaden doesn't say anything overwhelmingly rude to anyone. On the negative side, however, he doesn't say much of anything, even when Grandma Helen, Steffi and Becket try to engage him.